Soon Fred was sleeping, and then the two others threw the bit of rope on his breast and began to move it back and forth. No sooner had it touched Fred’s face than he roused up with a start.
“Oh!” he cried, and tried to sit up, when the rope glided over his breast and his shoulder. “A snake! A snake! Oh, I’m a dead boy!” And he leaped up, yelling like a wild Indian. Then the rope got twisted between his legs, and he danced around more madly than ever.
“What’s the matter with you?” asked Harry, sitting up. At a signal Joe had let go of his thread and his brother had jerked the rope out of sight.
“A snake! It crawled right over my face!”
“Where is it?” questioned old Runnell, and grabbed up his gun.
The lantern was lit, and also a torch, and they looked around; but, of course, no reptile could be found.
“I guess you were dreaming,” said Joe, innocently. “You were talking about that other snake, you know.”
“I—I don’t think so,” answered Fred, sheepishly.
“There is no snake here,” said Joel Runnell, after a long examination. “Joe must be right; you dreamed it, Fred.”
“Well, if I did, that dream was mightly life-like,” said Fred.